


Attire Misfire

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durin Family, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili and Fili are brothers, bachelors, close in size, and just can't be bothered to put the right clothes in the right drawers. Worse, when they're in a hurry to get to weapons training and lessons after waking up late, they'll just throw on whatever they can find. As long as they <i>are</i> wearing clothes, everything's good, right? The problem begins when other Dwarves start sniggering behind their backs, giving them sidelong smirks. Worse, <i>congratulating</i> them on finding true love. It's getting terribly unfunny because the brothers love each other, but they're not <i>in love with</i> each other. Honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attire Misfire

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/7346.html?thread=16740274#t16740274

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I was busy dragging your _forsaken arse_ out of the bed!”

The brothers of Durin somehow manage to snarl at each other amidst a storm of flying undershirts, cartwheeling breeches and the odd one or two pairs of underpants. As with all brothers, there is always time to bicker about _something_ , never mind that they are dangerously late for their weapons training with Mister Dwalin, and they are _still not wearing the right clothes_.

Clothes _._ Fabric covering the parts where the light shouldn’t shine, that’s what they are. Mother used to keep their attire so very neatly separated – all divided into _Fili’s_ and _Kili’s_. Then, the brothers grew up. Kili caught up with Fili’s height and he’s now a little taller. Fili grew sturdy and is now a little wider. Which means, at the end of the day, it’s all the same. So they began to get dressed according to the speed and the angle to which their hands reach their clothes. Over time, their clothes got categorised into _may-be-Fili’s_ , _possibly-Kili’s_ and _owner-unknown_.

Right this moment, however, all groups and lists are tossed out of the window as they yank on the first things they find. It is not till after they have greeted their mother, grabbed some breakfast, dashed out of the door, and are panting on the route to their training ground, that they realised Fili is wearing Kili’s breeches, and Kili has on Fili’s vest. The breeches hang a little too long for Fili, and the vest is a tad loose for Kili, but there is no time to get fussy as they finally reach their destination and get busy grovelling before their fuming weapons-master.

“We’re truly sorry, Mister Dwalin,” Kili says first, very sheepishly, channelling every ounce of pitiful earnestness into his eyes as he stares up at the warrior Dwarf.

“We do not mean to be late,” Fili adds contritely. “One of us had difficulty waking up,” he finishes, pointedly ignoring the sidelong glare from his brother. They both know exactly which one of them couldn’t get out of bed that morning.

Dwalin harrumphs, but he relents. He has dealt with these two young, sometimes-tardy lads for a good forty years, and he knows them like the back of his hand. And the _front of his palm_ when he clocks them across their heads for behaving like half-wits. The disapproval on his face slowly fades as he assesses their state of dress, replaced by a strangely twitchy expression.

The warrior now turns to the fair-haired brother and barks, “You are wearing…” he makes a vague gesture at Fili’s breeches.

“These are Kili’s,” Fili says with a sigh of pure annoyance. “I couldn’t find my own this morning, and his were lying right there on the bed, so I took them.”

Dwalin clears his throat noisily. Then he jerks his head towards Kili. “And what of your shirt?”

“What, this?” Kili shrugs carelessly as he glances down at himself. “It’s Fili’s. It’s more comfortable than my own and I reckon it’s starting to fit _me_ better now.” He ends with a devious poke at Fili’s belly.

Fili is just getting ready to light into his infuriating brother, when a large, knuckle-dustered hand clamps down on his and Kili’s shoulders. The rant on Fili’s tongue trickles back down his throat.

Dwalin leans his face very, very close to theirs. “We’re going to talk.”

With that, the lads are dragged away by their burly master and made to sit down. They are then subjected to a lecture that is a half hour too long, and many times more horrifying than anything the brothers have ever encountered.

“Congratulations!” the warrior bellows at them, clasping their hands in his huge fists.

The brothers look at him, then at each other. Eh?

 _According to Mister Dwalin_ , Fili and Kili are bedding each other. Wearing each other’s clothes makes it _very_ apparent, apparently. Dwalin is supportive, and believes it is true love, but even he feels that he should warn the lads of the consequences of such incestuous, taboo relations.

The brothers’ minds have already exploded at the point where Dwalin said _‘bedding’_.

“Mister Dwalin,” Fili says now, holding up one finger. He looks about to throw up his breakfast. “Just wait. Are you suggesting that Kili and I are – are – ” His throat works noiselessly as he tries to force the words out. He fails.

“ _We’re not sleeping with each other_!” Kili fairly wails. “We’re brothers!”

What happens next is that they try their best to explain things to Dwalin. Clothes are just dreadfully bothersome and they cannot waste time sorting out what belongs to whom as they’re dressing in the mornings. It’s – it’s the fault of the clothes! Through it all, Dwalin listens like a wise elder. Very understanding. Very sympathetic.

“You believe us, do you not?” Now Kili’s eyes are no longer putting on any act. He is truly beseeching as he pleads with the older Dwarf.

“You _have_ to,” Fili joins in, looking precariously close to tugging on Dwalin’s sleeve. “This is a terrible misunderstanding.”

The warrior Dwarf scrutinises them for a long moment. At length, he nods sagely. “I do. Now get up and get to your training.”

Profoundly relieved, the brothers have never moved faster as they hurry off and retrieve their training weapons. Were they a little slower and more observant, they may have noticed the way Dwalin looks in their direction and sighs deeply, rueing the fact that not only are the brothers of Durin trapped in a forbidden union, they are so caught up with their passions that they cannot wake up and dress themselves properly in the morning, and now have to make up excuses to even their closest elders.

But Fili and Kili are so glad to put aside the whole debacle, that they do not notice anything amiss, and continue with their training, blissfully ignorant of all things carnal.

++++++++++

Exactly three days later, they realise something is very wrong.

It is the morning of their history and culture lessons with Mister Balin, and once again, they are late. Surprisingly, this time around, it has nothing to do with Kili. In fact, Kili is already awake and dressed long before Fili has left the bathing quarters. The younger Dwarf even has the time to choose the exact shirt and the exact coat he wants to wear with the shirt. They are both Fili’s; they even bear Fili’s insignia in embroidered stitches at the hem. But Kili has long decided that they suit him better, and so he has dispossessed them from Fili.

Meanwhile, Fili is flying about in a rare state of anxiety. He has lost his hair clasps and he does not want to step out of the house looking like an uncouth rascal. Fili’s words, not Kili’s. Just because one does not wear ten thousand braids in the hair does not make one an uncouth rascal, thank you very much. By the time Fili’s found his hair clasps, he is so wound up Kili has to help him braid the hair at the sides of his head.

When they reach Mister Balin’s study, the other students, Dwarves of similar age to Fili and Kili, are already nose-deep in their books. They look up at the brothers as they burst into the study, and they stare at first. Then, slowly, one by one, they begin to cough and dart knowing, furtive glances at one another.

“Property of the Crown Prince, eh, Kili?” One of them snickers as he gestures to Kili’s attire.

The dark-haired Dwarf feels his temper beginning to rise. “What of it?” he retorts. “It’s just a coat.”

“I mean _yourself_ ,” the other Dwarf guffaws even more loudly.

Oh. Kili looks down at his clothes, with Fili’s emblem stamped all over it. Property of the – _oh_.

“Look at Fili’s braids,” another lass says. “They look out of order.”

Kili takes a deep, long breath. He’s going to combust. Beside him, Fili yanks warningly on his sleeve, but Kili is beyond caring now. “ _I_ did Fili’s braids. What’s wrong with them?” he demands loudly.

“Only mated couples do that.”

Kili goes red as a beetroot and Fili turns turnip-pale.

From behind the brothers, Mister Balin says in a clipped tone, “I would see you after lessons, laddies.”

It is the longest lesson of the brothers’ lives, filled with mutual tension as they try not to go too close to each other. But they are _brothers_ and distance between them is impossible. So, Fili leans over to instruct Kili on a particular topic, and instantly draws a round of whistles from their peers. Later, it is Kili’s turn to attract chortling when he brushes aside a stray lock from Fili’s head.

So, by the time the lesson reaches its completion, it is a weary and sullen pair of brothers called to Mister Balin’s desk.

The moment Mister Balin opens his mouth to speak, Kili beats him to it.

“We are not copulating with each other.”

The elderly Dwarf raises an eloquent brow. “Mind your language, laddie. I believe the right word here is _fornicating_.”

Fili just stares blankly at Balin. “I don’t know how that’s a better word.”

A long, drawn-out sigh resounds from the greying Dwarf. “I believe you’re right, Fili. In any case, clearly the both of you are not doing any sleeping at all. You are late for lessons, and training. You are marking each other all over and proclaiming your love like a banner. It is a risky business, my boys. But,” he pauses dramatically, before continuing with a heartfelt smile. “I am truly happy for you, dear boys. So young. So in love.”

Kili’s jaw drops so low, it looks like it’ll stay that way permanently. So Fili reaches over and snaps it close for him.

“Now, take this and study it well.”

Very dumbly, the brothers accept the book from Mister Balin and trudge home. The situation has reached a very dire state. Everyone in Middle-Earth – and possibly other realms – believes they’re having the earth-shattering affair of their young lives.

And now, they have ‘ _The Phallus: positions and other practical uses’_ in their bags, which they have to study, for the sake of Mahal’s flaming ponies.

“Kili,” says Fili as when they reach their home. “We’re sorting our clothes right _now_.”

For once, Kili does not argue.

++++++++++

So they sort their clothes out. Their various sets of attire are classified even more neatly now than they’ve ever been in the past seven-odd decades of their lives. Even mother is stunned by it all. Fili has his mauve-toned fur-lined coats and double-buckled belts. Kili has his gold-trimmed coats and half-sleeved vests. Even their boots have individual patterns now.

They are _never_ wearing each other’s clothes ever again.

But the damage is done. Their Dwarven peers continue to snigger and shoot sideways smirks at them. And the brothers know what goes on in their filthy minds, those arses. They’ve heard the whispers about how the Durin brothers are tumbling with each other, engaging in all sorts of dark pleasures of the flesh. Eventually, the giggling behind their backs spread like an infection to the customers at their forges, and later, the ministers and officials at court. It is simply a matter of time before mother and Uncle are going to speak to them about it.

So, after a particularly quiet dinner one evening, and Thorin calls them aside afterwards, the brothers are ready for it.

“Uncle,” Kili announces. “We’re not fucking.”

Thorin looks as though someone’s emptied a bucket of slop on his head.

“What Kili meant was,” Fili hastily cuts in, correcting his dimwit of a brother. “We love each other, but we are not _in love_.”

“Yes,” Kili agrees immediately. “ _Yes_ , exactly. We love each other, but we don’t _love_ each other. Brilliant, that.” He flashes a grin at Fili, which the fair-haired Dwarf returns with a wink.

There is a weighted, pregnant pause as Thorin studies his sister-sons. His expression is inscrutable beneath his grand mane of hair. He seems contemplative, exasperated, and pensive all at once, very much a long-suffering Uncle. Finally, he takes in a deep breath and the furrow between his heavy brows eases. “I understand your bond better now, I think. Very well. Then I suppose you have no use for these?” He stretches one hand into his coat and produces two objects in his palm.

Hair clasps crafted from fine silver, beautifully-engraved.

“They’re lovely,” Kili says at once, just stopping short of pouncing on them. “Did you make these yourself, Uncle?”

A rare, beatific smile tugs at the corners of Thorin’s lips as he gazes upon Kili, then Fili. “I thought it would match the both of you.”

“They do,” Fili replies, accepting the gift in a more composed, though no less warm manner than his brother.

“One more thing,” Thorin says now, after a moment of quiet bliss. “There is a quest.”

++++++++++

Not only is there a quest to re-claim Erebor, but Fili and Kili are expected and allowed to travel with their Uncle. There would be a Company too of loyal, steadfast Dwarves who answered Thorin’s call. They would leave behind the petty, overly-suspicious and gutter-minded comrades of their age, for the company of older, mature Dwarves with a mighty love of ale and hearty food and Orc-killing, and who would _never_ conjure up unholy conclusions of the brothers’ relationship.

“Here you go.”

Fili grins widely as he accepts the meat-roll from his brother. It’s from their own home, seasoned with a whole assortment of heavenly flavours – mother’s own recipe – and cleverly smuggled into Kili’s pack. They may share life and death with the Company, but certainly _not_ mother’s meat-rolls. Eventually, the Company will find out exactly why the brothers have been so eagerly offering themselves up to watch the ponies. But until then – the meat-rolls are _theirs_.

Fili’s barely taken a bite from his portion, when he notices Kili glancing back at the clearing where the Company has settled for the night. There is an expression of utter befuddlement and suspicion on Kili’s face, which is entirely out of character for him.

“What is it?” Fili presses him, words garbled around a mouthful of savoury flavours.

“The Company,” Kili frowns, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the clearing. “They’ve been looking at us funny.”

Fili freezes in mid-chewing, still as a statue. “You don’t think _they_ think we are…”

The brothers stare wide-eyed at each other for a long, terrified moment.

Slowly, however, at the same time, they begin to laugh. Nervously. Then, a little more recklessly. Finally, they throw their heads back and guffaw.

“Of course not!” Fili says dismissively now. “We’re the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Who’d make up such lewd tales about us?”

“Exactly,” Kili is chirpy now that his fears have been laid to rest. He gnaws on his own meat-roll now, blinking as he stares around them. “Say, Fili, how many ponies do we have?”

++++++++++

The Hobbit and a small group of Dwarves watch shrewdly as once again, the young Durin brothers announce that they’re heading off to watch the ponies. They disappear into the dark surroundings, two entwined figures of ebony and gold.

Bilbo Baggins shakes his head as he puffs on his pipe. “They do this often?”

“Every chance they get,” Gloin grunts as he rummages for his own pipe.

“Watching the _ponies_ ,” Bilbo snorts, producing a less than perfect smoke ring in the process.

“Leave them be, Bilbo Baggins,” Bofur says merrily as he joins the conversation. “They’re having an arduous time as it is,” he lowers his head now and whispers, “ _And they don’t know we know_.”

‘How can they not?” the Hobbit sputters. “It is plain as daylight! Completing each other’s sentences – ”

Dori, who’s been openly eavesdropping, now sniffs primly, “Saying the same imbecilic nonsense, one after another.”

“And the dead giveaway?” Bofur waves his hand with a flourish.

“ _Matching hair clasps_ ,” all of them conclude in near-unison.

“It’s sweet,” the Hobbit sighs, and the battle-hardened Dwarves agree gruffly.

Oh, young, forbidden love and all its splendours and perils.

 

_finis_

* * *


End file.
